Gears of War: Failed Intentions
by Forgotten-Speaker
Summary: The COG become desperate. A biological weapon. An attempt to survive at all cost. Even death is justified by self logic. The war must end.


**Authors Disclaimer: I do not own Gears of War nor rights to say I created it. I do in fact own the published works stated below this disclaimer. All these literal content exposed to you are completely fictional and imaginary and if they so happen to relate to any other material such as names or locations, it is **

**completely coincidental. **

**This is my first Fan fiction, please butcher me with your blades of criticism and apply me with your salt of advice xP**

**Readers not:** symbols such as: (*) will sometimes be placed upon the ending of words and sentences to mark as explainable material, see bottom of page.

* * *

**It** could hear...

**It** could smell...

**It** could not see...

**T**he vivid ceiling lights paid their unfaltering work to the pale corridor that was tainted by black and the sound of foot steps. Fastened and secured, the Berserker moved slightly, opening its cage of teeth and daintily grasping the plastic fiber that was underneath it with its nails.

A security camera oversaw them.

The stretcher was circumspectly guided until it came to an enclosed doorway that required admittance to proceed. A number code panel and hand scanner awaited use as a personal escort reenacted protocol. His intent prevailed.

Within the deep womb of the indefinite hold a banshee of cold air enfolded their senses, unveiling sight into realms of a prepared lab. Moments bled until they were entitled attention as a man stepped before their sight.

A figure domineered by ageing flesh' and importance.

_''Bring __**it**__ here'' …_

***

**It** thrashed and spilt a piercing scream: the sedatives symptoms turning to the nothing as it struggled in its restraints.

***

**It** mouthed pettily, as it whined with new found mire, calling a name that it desired, but no sufficient source to sap for it before, as light poured onto **it****.**

***

Hurt. The fear was arguable, a tear on the plump womb that recessed dark organic fluid as the scalpel ran down the exposed flesh. Warmth leaking out; the severed arteries and erythrocyte tunnels now reeling.

''_Pulse is increasing, there is a drastic change in temperature rising. The sedatives should be taking affect''_

Vision was blurred as he tried to raise his arm to shield the light paying its brilliance to his eyes. His action was discontinued.

A curse he spoke, and as the words escaped his mouth so did a stream of warm blood with it. This wracked him, as his thoughts turned in manner to welcome the feeling of confusion. Hearing all low voices communicate with one another.

The touch of icy metal below him edged him, and no clothing or fabric upon his naked being, just the pain accumulating in his stomach was all he could feel. Eyes the hue of dead skies, right now, **its** pupils contracted.

''_it's a good thing we were able to get __**it**__ back before it exhausted its self''_

''_wasn't calving supposed to be hours ago?''_

''_Yes, but __**it**__ seems to have been forcefully delayed. Hopefully no long term trauma will affect the fetus''_

Obeying commands to move limbs were defied. He lay still on his back facing the light on a slab, feeling his torso expand unnaturally. His mouth moved, he did not will it, but it motioned as he could hear his name bred from his own lips, not his particular voice, but from a woman, laced in panic with fear of like a still live thing being brought to something that it feared.

_Suddenly_, receptive nerves made Gusion grit his teeth as he drowned in pain. Something was being ripped from him. Organs to entrails,

''_Be careful. We don't want any damage''_

The seams of moist sinew and flesh snapped' welcoming the high pitched wailing of an abnormal infant to course in the air, fresh from the womb as it took its first breath- covered in thick scarlet.

''_Simply Amazing''_

Gusion, his very name, his head pulsed upward' touching jaw to chest to see the view of his gruesome dissected torso, convulsing –spewing crimson blood uncontrollably. His body quaked violently with dim people on his left to right staring upon him.

Beyond it: a woman clothed in white holding an object in her arms, surrounded by masked beings adorning the likes of her white attire, issuing under her breath consoling sounds…

Breaths of Gusions were fast, hollow rasps that fed his lungs little. The gluttony of oxygen was grave.

There the eyes of the non-human infant slowly opened as Gusions sight faltered. The dark black orbs met his own.

''_Isn't she oh so beautiful?'' _

Veins of ebony coursed through his vision, reaping the clarity that remained.

''_We'll call her Iniamayn'' _she stated with sunder like affection._ ''just like her mother wanted''_

There… He awoke spilling a scream of fright.

-

***

**Location: Roengea Outpost**

Gusion, his very name, found him self drained of vital oxygen, a riot of blood dispersing from his artificial heart, his body desiring for more of the air he loss. He clasped his hands on the sides of his skull- breathing rather violently.

The standard metal cot: his bed, situated within the sleeping cells of the Hold with his unit.

He had awoken 6:34 AM

Thoughts crusaded through his head until he disbanded them' by feeling his bare stomach. No wounds… No lacerations. The nothing...

He cringed' hoping he hadn't awoken his unit with the outburst of sound, but he stripped his reluctance when silence and the muffled breaths listed his ears.

Gusion, staring at his shuddering hands… how they trembled so bizarrely, slanted his eyes in misapprehension, and fear.

''_Iniamayn'' …_

***

_**Things**_ to _hear_:

''_It's been a long day… we are all very tired''_

''got that right''

''_For years we have faced days like these. The fuel… the COG's that run with the copayment lubrication of blood, that all too is plentiful now''_

''I disagree to concur''

''_We are all part of the machine. A purpose of the highest order, a purpose blessed specifically … to humankind, the purpose… to __**survive**__''_

''….hmmm….''

''_But in order to survive, **WE **MUST** MAKE SACRAFICES**''_

***

**G**usion deactivated the radio. Its moribund words thread bare to the stillness. Only to die, except in the memory.

His bitter charred lips peeled fully to reveal flawed filed incisors as his eyes met every other. They forked.

''What satisfactory data, surely… we are all moved, and deeply vivified by our great leader: the fucking Chairman''…

Gusion swiveled his head side to side, breeding the smile of mock bliss. Their own very words. His squad roused to him. Their fingers' wrapped around the eliciting devices that the COG used in their mission of life preservation*.

The malice leisurely dripped from the gates of his mouth, cursing the 'shit' and 'corrupt'. Before him… to hear his _pleas'_ were the significant number of pacified people, delimited in a row, upon their knees. Roped and gagged with gas soaked fabric.

Gusion buried a breath into his lungs, contemplating, as he had drawn a Snub pistol from its containment on his body.

Aust stepped to the fore, imperceptible to Gusion as he adopted the emotion of nothing: ''we have nil to do anything here, let's move''

''Right…''

The waking seconds to an episode, Gusion designed his weapon to a male captive near, and a large vicious torrent of scarlet pissed from the nape of his neck where the bullet exited with a vociferous sound. He reenacted to the other captives with effortlessness till it was climaxed.

''Let's be gone Whispers'' ….

***

**T**he distillation of the pollution, the liberation, the emancipation, Gusion absently herded his finger nails into the centre of his hand, breeding eight Cheshire cats into the scalded meat.

He looked upon them, with commonsensical deficiency_**_ -Quite normal for him, as the upper realm above him darkened.

***

_**Things**_ to _See:_

**T**he thick trails of smoke pillars behind him entrailed the preceding nightfall from their sources of burning horded corpses.

Delicate. Obsidian butterflies of vestige ashes surrounded him and his squad' as they left the premises with simple divided good byes.

The distillation of the pollution, the liberation, the emancipation.

Gusion sheathed the Snub into the holster and continued his stride toward the contingency quarantine of COG soldiers, stationed before the entrance of the hot zone.

An impediment of APC's and armed Gears procured their concerns.

Then it was spilt… ''Err… Sergeant? , don't acquire any misunderstanding, but, must we have… done that?'' …Rather lamely.

Private Hecklar spoke in a diminutive sound, inquiring stated to Gusion' their appointed leader of the unit.

He idly affirmed with the lackadaisical vary of a nod. Hecklar questioned again: ''But we could have quarantined them, subjugated them to observed isolation, they were not a real threat!''

''_**What **__**is **_then a _**real**_ threat!?'' Gusion barked deafeningly with malice, placing his seeing to the _Point Of Interest_; Hecklar.

''The prospective of human endangerment! The expectancy of quarrel! Potential consequence that holds negative outcome'' Gusion jutted a black finger nail into the chest of his subordinates Gear,

''The infected MIA's are things that will bring a world of hurt if left unchecked. You want to prolong their affliction? Might as well fuck them off before they become the monsters were fighting'' …

Gusion parted irritably and addressed his squad with a signal of his fingers to advance.

''It's appalling that they had a choice''…

* * *

*: Lancers, the substantial fire arm of the COG gears. Very good at cutting cheese.

**: Gusion is -in past physiological assessments- considered to be diagnosed with a mental illness of manic disorders and unexplained behavior, resulting from a lack of chemical in the brain that has less equivalence to the human nervous system. But normally it's the unknown human logic. Which is normally called spacing out.

* * *


End file.
